


The Bridge

by meus_venator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, Halloween, None - Freeform, Spirits, Supernatural Elements, ghost - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27018523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/pseuds/meus_venator
Summary: Outside POV of the incident on Naismith Bridge
Comments: 19
Kudos: 32





	The Bridge

**Title:** The Bridge  
 **Author:** [](https://meus-venator.livejournal.com/profile)[**meus_venator**](https://meus-venator.livejournal.com/)  
 **Characters:** Sam, Dean, OMC  
 **Word count:** 5k  
 **Rating:** GEN  
 **AN:** Thanks to my wonderful Betas: [](https://fufaraw.livejournal.com/profile)[**fufaraw**](https://fufaraw.livejournal.com/) and [](https://onlythefireborn.livejournal.com/profile)[**onlythefireborn**](https://onlythefireborn.livejournal.com/)  
 **Warnings:** None  
 **Written for:** [](https://spn-darkside.livejournal.com/profile)**spn_darkside** ’s **Spirit of Halloween Challenge**  
 **Summary:** Outside POV of the incident on Naismith Bridge

Everything was fine when he left the house fifteen minutes ago, but then a storm had come out of nowhere. Now the snow was blowing so hard it was almost impossible to see the road. If things kept up like this, there’d be hardly any business at the bakery come morning. Seth grumbled to himself. Maybe he should turn the car around right now and go back home to bed. Hell, he was practically being pushed under by the new Shop ’n’ Save that just opened over in Smithfield, anyway. But no, here he was at three in the morning–the soul’s witching hour, his great grandmother used to call it–out in a blizzard on his way to the bakery. He must be stupid or stubborn. His mama would have said stubborn, but he wondered sometimes.

He jiggled the switch on the heater, but got nothing more than a mildly less-cold huff of breeze from the vent.

He wiped a rag across the one clear spot in the center of the windshield, hoping to keep the lattice of frost that was creeping across the glass at bay. The old station wagon had never had the best heater to begin with; it was going on eighteen years old, so he counted himself lucky it always started and never let him down. He snorted. His breath steamed out in a white cloud, even inside the car. It was probably colder inside the car than out.

A fierce gust of wind shoved the vehicle sideways, bringing it perilously close to the guardrail. He wished he’d left those bags of flour in the back to help with the front wheel drive's traction. He dropped the rag, both hands tightening on the steering wheel as he battled the wind to get the old station wagon back in its lane. “Come on, baby, we’re almost there,” he muttered as he maneuvered the car closer to center and thanked the gods they were on their way down the last steep incline before town.

A breeze of warm air belched from the vents, as if the old car was eager to arrive, too. And the windshield cleared incrementally, beating the frost back to the edge of the glass.

Getting close. At odd moments he could see the lights of town below as they winked and blinked through the swirling snow. If he hadn’t been scared for his life, he would have found it pretty.

Fortunately, the wind calmed as he reached the bottom of McGreggor’s Hill and started over the last hurdle, Naismith Bridge, perched over the Ocacha River on the edge of town.

The Naismith family had owned the largest dairy farm in the area for the last hundred years. Paul and Shelly Naismith, now in their nineties, lost their only daughter tragically, when she’d driven her car off the road just here, where there used to be an old wooden bridge.

Her death was ruled a suicide; after all, her fiancé had cheated on her and then left town. Heart broken, she’d even been wearing her wedding dress when she plunged to her death. In her honor, the family had built a state-of-the-art bridge. Random disappearances in the area kept alive the rumors that Sara Naismith still haunted the bridge, luring single men to their death in the icy waters below as she sought to punish the unfaithful. But in all his years crossing over it, Seth had never seen anything suspicious. For him the bridge had always been a welcome sight, signaling he was almost at the bakery, but then he’d never cheated on his sweet Lizzy.

Seth blew out a relieved sigh. He might just make it to the bakery in one piece, after all. Maybe all he needed was the power of positive thought.

On that note, maybe he’d take his daughter, Eileen up on her offer to do some online advertising on social media. He’d heard this Twitter thing could do wonders for your business, let alone a nice professional FaceBook page. Hell, once Eileen had done her thing, they’d probably be swimming in business. All the people of Munkshead needed was a reminder that he was the best baker in town and far superior to the pre-packaged tasteless goods the Shop ‘n’ Save’s bakery department was putting out.

Seth perked up at that thought. Three generations of Edwardses had owned and operated the Grain and Plow Bakery. Living in these hills they’d seen hard times and good times in the past; he’d just have to suck it up and ….Holy shit!

Seth stamped on the brake and regretted it instantly as the car went into an uncontrollable slide. He cranked the wheel, and the old wagon slewed sideways, doing a donut on the icy bridge and narrowly missing the giant of a man and petite woman in a long flowy white dress, standing in the middle of the road as it pinwheeled by.

Seth had barely enough time to register the flicker of shock expression on the man’s pale face before his head slammed against the steering wheel. He saw his life flash before his eyes as the car smashed through the concrete bridge railing in a jarring, grinding juggernaut of sliding metal.

Blackness. Then pain. Then a voice.

“Hey Mister. Umm, Mister, are you okay. Please be okay?”

Seth's eyelids fluttered open. Everything hurt. He was shoved up against the steering wheel, and something warm was trickling down his face. A persistent voice droned in his ear as he tried to figure out where he was. The car…. Seth groaned and forced himself to sit up.

The voice continued. Seth turned his head to see a man’s face outside the only unbroken window in the car. His giant hand waved at him through the glass.

Seth blinked at him. He looked familiar for some reason….he remembered …The car….right, storm, crash…a man. A man and a woman in a long white dress, standing in the middle of the bridge.

Bleary-eyed, Seth looked at him.

“Mister. Mister. You okay? Can you move?”

Seth blinked again and wet his lips. Brain function starting to return. “I think I’m okay…How….what happened?” he croaked.

“You crashed. The car spun out of control, trying not to hit me.”

“Ahh, sure…” Seth shook his head, dazed, regretting the action instantly as his head pounded in pain.

The man crouched closer to the glass, he was pale, and in the murky light of the bridge. “I know this is a lot to take in, but I need your help. There’s been an accident…another accident, and my brother’s trapped in the car. Can you get your phone? It’s a matter of life and death.”

“Okay, okay.” He reached for his phone, which he normally tossed in the cubby behind the gearshift. It wasn’t there. He looked around for it. The few nearby lights on the bridge barely dented the darkness.

He felt around the passenger seat, impatiently unhooking his seatbelt to fish around on the floor. He couldn’t find it. “I can’t see it.”

Seth opened the door and staggered to his feet. He leaned against the car as the world started to spin around him. The man waited with barely restrained anxiety.

“You okay?” the stranger asked, and Seth looked over at him. Then up, and up. The man was huge, well over six feet, with a mop of shaggy dark hair that looked wet, full of ice and snow. Seth’s head hurt and he had to squint to see him, the man seemed to flickered in and out of focus before his eyes. His right hand was tucked inside his jacket, clutched to his chest as if he had hurt it, and a bloody gash ran down the side of his face that was cast in shadow.

“Jesus, were you in an accident, too?”

“Yes, and I need your help. The phone?”

“Oh, right.” Guiltily, Seth fumbled around the front door and opened the back to let the street light in. He searched the front and back seats again, snow swirling everywhere. He wondered how the tall stranger wasn’t already frozen to death. He wore only a light canvas jacket that was clearly soaked through.

“Found it!” Seth called out in triumph as his hand fumbled on the familiar shape. He crawled out of the car and held the phone to the light; the screen was shattered. Crossing his fingers that it was only a cosmetic break, he tried to restart it, but the screen stayed black.

“Damn,” the stranger whispered. “Okay, Plan B. Do you think you can climb down the side of the hill, help pull my brother out?”

“Uhh, Yeah, maybe… Where is he?”

The man gestured to the end of the bridge. “We swerved to avoid something and went off the side of the road, down the embankment. Car's half in the water, over there.”

Seth licked his lips and went to the trunk, already popped by the crash. With a grinding screech, he shoved it all the way open. Inside were an emergency kit of flares, a heavy-duty flashlight, and blankets.

He cracked a few flares and dropped them around the car.

“Hey take this, you must be freezing.” Seth offered one of his two army blankets to the stranger. “And I have another for your friend.”

“My friend?”

“The lady in the white dress…. Hey, where did she go? She must be freezing!” Seth looked around but couldn’t see her through the heavy snow. Odd.

The man only took an uneven step backward, waving a hand, No. An eerie red haze blossomed around him, making him seem almost translucent as the swirling snow took on a red tint from the flares. “Ah, she ran for help….I’m okay, let’s go. I’d offer to carry something, but I think I broke my arm, and my leg isn’t working right.” The tall man huffed apologetically. Seth glanced down and thought he could see the white shine of bone sticking out of the lanky man’s jeans.

On autopilot Seth nodded and shoved down the battered trunk lid. He took a deep breath, trying to gather his wits. Looking up, he grew still as he took in the full impact of the crash scene for the first time. Several of the concrete railings had snapped off, plummeting into the icy Ocacha River below. One wheel of his station wagon was suspended midair; enough of the railings had held so that he hadn’t joined their fellows in the deep.

Shuddering, he shouldered the blankets and followed the limping giant back to the edge of the bridge.

“Hey, what’s your name, stranger?”

“Winchester? You?”

“Seth.”

“I’m happy you came by, Seth. I didn’t know what… Wait, here’s where we went over.”

Seth tossed a few more flares around the spot. In the storm he could barely make out the cracked decorative column with “Naismith Bridge” carved on it. The driving snow had scrubbed away any tracks. Hell, if Winchester hadn’t been there to say there’d been an accident, no one might have known until spring.

As Seth stepped down off the road, the wind died down suddenly, and it grew eerily quiet. The silent snow grew wetter and fatter and seemed to fall even faster. He could hear the rush of the dark waters down the incline. He threw a flare down the steep embankment. It landed with a distinctly metallic thud. Even through the snow, he could now make out the glint of black metal and chrome off a half-submerged car's tail lights. The vehicle had come to rest at an angle, ass end pitched high in the air where it had come to rest, nose in the water.

“I think that sign was the one thing that slowed us down at all, kept us from shooting straight out into the water,” Winchester mumbled, as Seth sidestepped gingerly down the embankment.

Working as fast as he could, Seth picked his way down the icy, snow-covered hill. Tossing the blankets on the upended trunk, he lit the last of his flares, scattering them around the crash site.

“My brother’s on the driver’s side. Dean….”

Seth startled at Winchester’s sudden appearance beside him in the red glow. He hadn’t even heard Winchester make his way down the slope. It must be Seth’s imagination but in the flickering red light of the flares, Winchester’s face had a strange translucent cast to it.

“Okay.” Seth grabbed hold of the car's chrome trim. The driver’s side was pitched almost three feet in the air, while the other was in the water. He tried for a controlled slide down the side of the car. A vintage beauty, he could tell by the outrageous size and trim, still in surprisingly good shape for having careened off a hill. Seth caught hold of the driver’s side door handle and bullied it open. The interior lights were still working and cast a pale gold glow on the driver — Dean, slumped over the steering wheel.

A dark line of blood ran down the side of his waxy face. Seth could sympathize, his own head throbbing after its bout with the steering wheel. He looked back at Winchester waiting anxiously at the rear of the car. “I got him!”

Hefting himself up onto the running board, he checked the unconscious man’s pulse. Those safety courses for the bakery were finally good for something. He was still alive. “He’s breathing, but maybe not for long if I don’t get him out of here.”

Seth could hear Winchester exhale a shaky breath. “Thank God!”

Seth started to drag the man out of the car, but the seatbelt held him fast. He pushed on it, then yanked and pulled, but it wasn’t budging.

“His belt’s on, won’t release!” Seth shouted.

“Wait, wait, he’s got a knife in his left boot.”

Seth’s eyebrows rose. Who carried concealed weapons and was out on stormy roads this late at night? Seth chewed on his bottom lip. Not his circus, not his monkeys. He patted down the man’s left leg gingerly and found the knife. Seconds later he had cut him free.

“Anyway, can you give me a hand, Winchester? He’s a big’un!”

“Sorry, man, I’d end up in the water with this gimpy leg and hand.” Winchester’s voice floated over the rushing water.

Swearing softly, Seth reached in and grabbed the man by his leather coat and pulled him onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, another gift of the first aid course. He couldn’t make it up the hill with his weight, but he could get him clear of the water.

As he adjusted his grip, he noticed something. Squinting into the dimly-lit car, he made out a second figure in the passenger seat, half submerged in icy water.

“Jesus, Winchester, there’s another guy in here. Why didn’t you say?”

Winchester ran his hand through his snow-covered hair. “It’s too late for him.”

Seth thought about the icy water and adjusted his grip on Dean, slowly climbing back to the river bank. “We’ll see.”

Fifteen minutes—a half hour—an eternity later, he’d crawled through snow and ice to the relative safety of the bank. He wrapped one of his blankets around the driver, saving the second one for the other man in the car.

Winchester crouched down beside him, taking in every aspect of his brother, before turning his gaze toward Seth slumped against the car. “Thank you so much. You don’t know…”

Seth nodded, his mind working on the problem of the second man. He knew he was risking Dean’s life to go back. He only had so much energy. Maybe Winchester could help. “Hey, could you go to the top of the road and try to flag someone down?”

Sam looked at him regretfully. “I’m done. This leg…. I don’t think I can make it back up.”

Cursing softly, Seth checked Dean’s pulse again. It seemed strong. There was the gash across his forehead, probably concussion, maybe some bruised ribs, but he’d live, if he didn’t freeze to death here. He still needed help, but Seth couldn’t just leave the second man behind. “What’s his name?”

Winchester looked at him, perplexed. The light from the flares was doing that odd trick to his eyes, and Winchester seemed to waver in the light.

“The guy in the passenger seat.”

Winchester chuffed out a surprised laugh, “That’s Sam, his brother. Our brother,” he quickly amended.

“Well, don’t be so quick to write him off. I’m going back.” Seth stood, looking at the crashed car thoughtfully, “You got any rope in that monster trunk?”

Winchester looked at him for what seemed like an awfully long time. “Yeah, we do. Just, ummmm….don’t freak out, okay?”

Seth pursed his lips in puzzlement. “There isn’t a body in there, is there?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” Winchester rose to his feet.

Seth watched him nervously, until Winchester tilted his head in inquiry.

“Uh, okay. Trunk…”

Seth glanced back nervously as he climbed up onto the rear bumper and released the trunk. All he could see was a couple of duffels.

“I don’t see any rope.”

“Yeah, it’s in the wheel well. Feel around near the front, there’s a pull ring to the spare. Haul on that.”

Seth found a release ring and tugged on it. A false bottom lifted up.

Seth was grateful for the darkness, obscuring most of the contents of the trunk. Even in the murky light he could see machetes and guns and odd canisters covered in strange inscriptions. It looked like the arsenal from some militia group, or something worse. “What the …?”

“Please, don’t, don’t freak out on me. We’re not serial killers. Honest. We’re FBI. We track killers and need to be prepared for anything.” Winchester’s voice was soothing and sincere and just the right level of calm, so that Seth’s heart didn’t beat right out of his chest. “We just want the same things you do, to get out of this alive. Please don’t freak out, man. We won’t hurt you.”

In hindsight, Seth thought it was the pleading look in Winchester’s eyes that stopped him from jumping down off the bumper and leaving this for the cops to sort out.

Stay calm. Just do the job and get out. You’re saving lives here. Seth repeated this mantra over and over as he grabbed the big coil of rope and dropped the false bottom back in place, hiding its secrets away. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and jumped down.

“Thank you, thank you,” Winchester whispered, as he crouched back down by Dean’s side. Seth found it funny that he didn’t try to touch his brother; of course, he had the broken arm and all. He shook his head. He couldn’t waste any more time, he had to work fast. Hypothermia might save the man, but only for so long.

He looped one end of the rope around the axle and shuffle-slid his way back to the driver’s side door using the rope. He wasn’t sure he could pull the man from the passenger side on his own, but maybe with a little leverage?

He jumped up into the cab of the car and crawled to the passenger side. The second man –Sam– was slumped over, chest deep in water. He checked for a pulse, couldn’t feel one, but gut instinct told him not to give up. Sam’s seatbelt, unlike Dean’s, gave at the first try. Good, Seth thought, one less problem. He looped some rope around Sam’s chest and tried to angle his body so it would pull easily up and across the bench seat. The man might have bruises around his chest, but he’d be out of the water.

Seth’s hands were freezing as he worked in the frigid waters. He had to move fast. He needed to get the man out.

When he finally had Sam positioned, Seth jumped down from the car and started to pull. Sam was even bigger than Dean. He grunted with effort as his numb limbs worked to drag the large man to the driver’s side. Finally he had him in position.

He yelled back over his shoulder, “I’ve got him, Winchester! If we can get help, there’s a chance they might be able to save him!”

Winchester didn’t respond, but he could see his silhouette and hear voices.

“Dean! Dean, you’re awake. You’re going to be okay, man. Just a bump on the head, maybe some hypothermia.”

“Sam? Why do you look so strange? What happened, where’s the woman in white?”

“I told her that her lover died sad and penniless, that he always regretting leaving her, but her father had paid him to go. She’s moved on. She won’t hurt anyone else.”

“But why did she even appear to us, we haven’t cheated on each other.” Dean sounded dazed, confused. “I-I don’t understand.”

Seth felt his eyebrows rise. The woman in white that he’d seen on the bridge? That had been Sara Naismith’s ghost? And one of the brothers cheated on the other? But they were brothers…Seth’s mind whirled in confusion, his chest tightened. Who were these men? What was happening?

“Doesn’t matter man,” Sam rushed in. “What matters is you’re okay.”

“But, what about you? What’s wrong with you, Sam? Why do you look so strange? It’s like I can see through you. What the hell?”

Seth paused in his slow climb, Sam? But Sam was the brother he was carrying.

“It’s okay, Dean. You’ll be okay. I-I couldn’t be saved. Guess I’ll get to see what our slice of heaven looks like first.”

“What? No, no Sam.”

Seth could see Sam shake his head, the flares light seemed to shine right through him then his shape more insubstantial than ever.

“Goddamnit, Sammy, you can’t just give up like that. I need you, man. I won’t let you die. Not in some goddamn river in the dead of winter.” Seth heard grunting sounds as he imagined Dean trying to sit up when Dean spoke again, his voice wrecked.. “Fuck that, Sammy, you’re going to live if it goddamn kills me. I’ll make another deal, so help me I will.”

There was terse silence, then Winchester – Sam’s voice. “I have to move on. You know what’ll happen if I don’t.”

“Well, give me a chance, I’ll drag you out by that too-long hair of yours if I have to.”

“Stay down, Dean, you’re in no shape to move. Seth is already trying, but it’s too late. I need to cross over. It’s time.”

“Fuck that! Sam, you stay right there, or God help me, I’ll kill you myself. You can’t leave me alone. I can’t do it without you.”

“You always were stronger than me, you’ll be okay. Just–Dean. Do me a favour, be happy.”

“Noooooo Sammmmm.” Dean’s anguished cry filled the night air.

“Goodbye.”

Seth glanced up, but Winchester wasn’t there now. Maybe he’d tried to climb back up the road after all. Struggling, Seth realized he had bigger fish to fry. He needed to get the second brother out before he ran out of energy. With a pained grimace he hefted Sam over his shoulder, grabbed the rope, and started the slow process of heaving himself back onto the bank.

Seth was literally crawling by the time he cleared the tail of the old car. Dean was lying there looking stunned. When Seth rolled ‘Sam’ onto the second blanket, Dean helped lower him, wrapping him in the blanket and cradling him in his arms. Seth collapsed beside them in exhaustion.

Dean checked his pulse and rocked him in his arms. “Sam, Sam, you stay with me, bitch. You don’t get to leave me like this. Come on Sam. You can’t give up, fight! Fight!”

Seth leaned against the back tire in exhaustion. All he wanted to do was close his eyes and rest a while, but he had a job to do. Just do the job and get out. He just had to make it up the hill. He glanced up the long embankment and almost started to cry when he saw the flashing orange lights of a snow removal truck at the top of the rise. Winchester must have been able to flag them down.

A flashlight’s beam panned over him.

Shielding his eyes, he could make out a rotund silhouette in a baseball cap.

“Hey, everyone okay down there? You need help?”

“Yes, yes! We’ve got two men injured, we need an ambulance ASAP.”

“I’ll call it in. Stay put.”

Seth started to chuckle. He wasn’t going anywhere. He reached to check Sam’s pulse himself and felt a very faint one.

Curious, he grabbed his flashlight and shone it over the two brothers. Sam’s face, it was identical to Winchester’s….twins? Dean nodded at him gratefully as he continued to hold his brother tight.

“We did it,” Seth whispered and slumped back, closing his eyes in exhaustion. He felt a shiver go down his spine. He wasn’t quite sure what had happened here tonight, but he’d managed to save them both.

Seth was in the hospital for two days as they treated him for mild hypothermia and frostbite on his hands and feet. He didn’t see Winchester again, but both of his brothers made it. Dean’s injuries had been serious, but not life-threatening. Best of all, they had been able to revive Sam. The hypothermia had actually preserved his brain function. It might take a bit longer, but he would make a full recovery.

On the personal side, Seth's station wagon was a complete write-off, but looked like insurance would cover everything and more. They’d be able to get a new vehicle if things worked out right.

While he was laid up, his story made the front page of the newspaper, and his wife called to tell him that they’d been sold out of everything since the news broke. They also had bookings for specialty cakes and sweets for the next month. And the paper was planning a special feature in Saturday “Dining Out” section on his artisan Cuban sandwiches. Turned out they were a rarity in other parts of the county, including Smithfield.

After the call, Seth had lain in his bed in complete shock. He’d never thought that a simple act of kindness would result in such a turnaround in their fortunes.

When he was finally discharged from the hospital, Seth found out the room number the two brothers were in. He asked the orderly checking him out for a few minutes and rolled his mandatory wheelchair to the right room. He wanted to introduce himself and drop off a treat bag of baked goods his wife had prepared.

He knocked on the doorframe, and two heads looked up. One man had brown hair and bright, cat-green eyes, and while he couldn’t be absolutely sure, he thought that was Dean. But it was the other man who took Seth’s breath away. This man had shaggy brown hair and hazel eyes and was huge, easily dwarfing the hospital bed he lay in. “Winchester?” Seth gasped.

The second man blinked and looked at Seth quizzically. “I–I’m Sam Winchester. May I help you?” It was the same voice, the same shaggy hair and broad shoulders. The man struggled to sit up. His leg was in traction, and his right arm was in a cast.

“But you, I- where’s the other man I saved?”

“You’re Seth Edwards?” Dean piped up, interrupting. A wide smile filled his face. “Boy, do we need to thank you. You saved our asses, Seth. From what they told us, no one would ever have found us if it weren’t for you. I’d like to shake your hand.” Dean enthused, sliding out of bed and limping over to Seth’s wheelchair.

“And don’t mind Sammy. That deep freeze swim addled him a bit, but he’ll make a full recovery, thanks to you.” Dean shook Seth’s hand. Seth looked at him, slightly confused, then glanced over at Sam.

“But you were on the bridge!” Seth shook his head, his gaze riveted on Sam. “You led me to the accident site. It was you, your leg, your arm….”

“I’m so sorry. I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember.” The same voice. Those same apologetic, puppy-dog eyes gazed at Seth innocently.

“I don’t understand,” Seth muttered.

Dean patted Seth on the back gently. “Maybe we had ourselves a guardian angel? I heard you got hit pretty hard on the head, too. Maybe that mixed things up?”

Seth shook his head, looking at Sam again. “No, Winchester, you were there. And there was Dean and–Sam and a woman in white too. Is this a trick?”

“No, no, seriously, Mr. Edwards. Why would we try and trick the man who saved us? We both owe you our lives.”

Just then the orderly returned to tell Seth his wife was waiting with the car at the entrance.

Seth looked at them, bewildered. Finally, he shook his head. “I–I brought you some sandwiches from my bakery. I know the hospital food can be challenging.”

Dean scooped the bag up and whistled when he looked inside. “Are those Cuban sandwiches? Seriously?”

“Yeah, they are. They’re one of our specialties.”

Dean whooped and jumped up on the bed facing Sam as he dug out a sandwich apiece. He bit in enthusiastically. “Oh God! These are delicious!”

Seth smiled, his smile falling into more of a confused grimace. If it was Sam in the water, who had he spoken to on the bridge?

“Feel free to save our lives anytime, Mr. Edwards.” Dean spoke as he chewed.

Seth nodded, and the orderly took it as a signal to go, rolling the chair back out of the room.

“And thank you again, for saving my brother's life, Mr. Edwards. It means more to me than my own.” Sam patted the polka-dotted hospital gown over his heart and gave Seth a grateful smile.

“You’re–you’re both welcome. I was just doing what anyone would do.”

“No, you didn’t. You did something amazing and rare. Don’t you doubt it.”

On the ride home Seth was quiet. His wife, Bev, asked him, “Did you get a chance to meet the boys you saved?”

“Yeah, nice boys,” he said absently, still thinking about that night.

When he thought back, he couldn't recollect a single time Winchester had touched anything or held anything. Maybe Winchester had really been Sam’s soul clinging to the scene of the accident talking to Sara Naismith’s ghost, not ready to cross over himself until he saved his brother.

Seth smiled, his mind finally settled. He’d never know for sure, but that seemed to make sense to him, and he was content that he’d actually managed to save the two of them.

Smiling, Seth turned to his wife, “And you say they’re running a story just about our Cuban Sandwiches?”

“Seriously.” She smiled. “They said they’d never tasted a sandwich with such soul.”

“Mmm.” Seth smiled softly.


End file.
